the things i do to make the drive from work home go by a little more quickly.

there is also something about putting all of your eggs into one basket as a labor-saving technique in the process of counting all of your chickens before they hatch.--- which is just as dumb. [see: "a bad joke. but a clean one. below].

but before you go thinking something like, "that's not funny": whats really not funny is the sound of i-swear-to-god a crying dog like right outside your window. or the funeral parlor on the corner where sometimes coming home from work you see them carting a body around under a maroon blanket.
christ, man.
stay positive.

a bad joke. but a clean one

I remember as a child, my father who late in the evening, after several whiskeys and just before retiring to bed, had a habit of emptying the change from his trouser pockets. Then removing the pennies, he would wander around the house and delicately place them heads-up in any odd place, beside the third banister on the stair, next to his left shoe, peeking out from under the rug in the hall, etc. Then in the morning he would pick them all up again and place them back into his pocket. Once, I suppose as soon as I was old enough to realize the peculiarity of it, I asked him why he went through this ritual each morning and night. He put me on his lap and said to me, “Keith, a man makes his own good luck”.

day off

day off, originally uploaded by keithrobertbush.

Shove self-righteous douchebaggery up the ass of dismissive snobbishness.
Give yourself a headache.
Build a perpetual leisure machine.
Dream about red ink.
Imagine yourself on a boat.
Forget yourself, Fuck yourself.
Over-indulge in self-denial?
Chain-smoke and to hell with your own ideas.
Make big plans for yourself. Go downstairs.
Jibe!
Get rid of your headache.
Forget over and over to brush your teeth.
Bundle up, fart, and pretend.
Feel dumb-lazy-crazy. Tomorrow won’t.
Miss your brother.
Redesign your machine.
Reef. Realize they’re all huge flakes.
You are too. Laugh at it.
Get down to the significance of the wall-eyed cat.
If any.
Too much time on your hands? Wipe it off on the internet.
Shit, man.

more griping

more griping, originally uploaded by keithrobertbush.

Dear Philly Wi-Fi,
I heard this thing recently about you crashing. crapping out, if you will. If there is any truth to this, it means that what I am currently picking up here is some sort of mysterious residual signal thats just floating around. I'm scraping the bowl here, milking it dry, whatever. But i've opened the window to aid in the flow of the spare little internet particles ino the house and to the tin-foil antenna that i've devised and attached to my spare USB port. but then again, i'm no scientist, and don't know anything about how any of this really works.
it's like that chicken soup thing when you have a cold. it might not help, but hell, it couldn't hurt right? I should tell you, philly wifi, that i think i lifted that chicken soup adage from some sort of womens' aging-gracefully-and-keeping-a-stylish-home type of magazine that i found at my mother's house. but she's aging okay, if you ask me, and her home is simply gowahgeous, so they've got some credibility to me, y'know?
jesus...
so what am i getting at here? couldn't tell ya, really. just having some coffee and planning my next move, which invariably begins with going out back for a cigarette and chasing off the gang, [flock?, gaggle?, murder?, pod?] of stray cats who gather in our back yard. i think the one that looks like garfield is the "peter pan" to their "lost boys". he's certainly the biggest. and his makeshift throne made out of fishbones further supports this assumption.
Note- we think one of them [the cats] infiltrated the house somehow.
Oh well, so i mean, is there any sort of cohesive, or in any way noteworthy thing to tell you about my most recent happenings and misadventures? lessons learned? profound insight gained?
well, for one thing. Do not body-slam your house guests. this is just poor hospitality.
Furthermore, do not spend too much time thinking about anything that has ever happened to you, anyone you've ever met, etc. Ever, this will do nothing but bum you out. conciousness is a bitch sometimes, and you can easily avoid it by reading constantly about other people's experiences, or sleeping. oftentimes the former helps ease you into the latter. If neither of these methods works, get drunk [quietly, and alone] or fuck around on the internet [but be careful to ration what's left of it].


PS. a package just came for maxwell, from CHINA. it's got chinese all over the box. I have every reason to believe this package contains a real live tattoo machine. keep yr fingers crossed. and come pay us money to mark you all up.
i have a steady hand, promise.

go fuck yourself,
keith

PHILLY WI-FI

"Hello?"
"Hey"
"Sup?"
"Not much, lissen, I've got this dead horse on my hands here, wanna come help me beat the lving christ out of it?"

STEADY CHASIN' THAT PAPER

Dear DAIRY,
-my eye drops got cold and the view from outside my window has a color scheme of orange and green.
I owed the bank three hundred dollars and now I owe my father three hundred dollars.
-what’s beautiful? A sunrise. What’s ridiculous? Twisting pretzels and watching the sun rise over the seven eleven. What’s beautifully ridiculous? Writing a blog about it later.
What’s just sad? Owing your father three hundred dollars.
My hands could be described as looking “ashy” these days, with bloody little nooks where I’ve nicked them on things. Like hands of a little old homeless lady in the right light. It’s weird and neat and all, but something needs to be done. I have nail clippers though. And moreover, a proper place in which I keep them.
I also want my room to smell like something. Domesticity and Hygiene.
And it’s Christmas soon and tomorrow I get to pick up my Uncle at the airport. There is a fun sort of romance in picking someone up at an airport. Active participation in a real-life “Home for the Holidays” drama. I’ll be looking forward to this until just moments before I have to actually leave and basically drive to the fucking airport on Christmas eve.
FORTUNE COOKIE from STEVE; the message inside- “Be broke or be wealthy, but never accept mediocrity”.
I owe my father probably way more than three hundred dollars.
By what standards to I judge mediocrity? Whose?
this is heavy business, but no time for that now. I need to bundle the hell up and find the nearest mailbox.

PS> all B's and two pluses in there this semester. I'm content. at very least there aint nothin mediocre about the END of that nightmare. guhbye, good morning, happy holla daze you knuckleheads.

can no get nuff

kyle

kyle, originally uploaded by keithrobertbush.

check out this hero

Temple, When will you be angelic? When will you take off your clothes?
har har har
but seriously.

[on a quest for unutterably profound and never before attained levels of funkiness and leisure?

why yes i am, funny you should mention...but where does a guy like me find the time in todays topsy-turvy, bizzy-wizzy world?

why, winter break!]

in my life, i've never experienced anything more emotionally taxing and psychically rigorous than laziness.
.true courage.

The Hilarious Case of the Bum Drum, et cet.

notable recent happenings:

-resurgence of badminton
-inexplicable constipation
-failed "Bum Fire" and cocoa night, as the bum drum which Max procured evidently used to be a trash can---acrid fumes in the yard. [Cheltenham Twp. Parks]
-successful cranberry-raisin muffins with a hint of orange peel
-process ad nauseum
-basement spray paint factory- sticky gray fingers
-missing keg tap? Reward if found
-waning terror
-constant tea
-impending yet almost tragically overdue raise
-"Taste of Willow Grove" -paid to eat free cookies and drink free Stella in santa claus hats
-completely fucking upside-down sleep cycles
-hanging ten on the academic wagon, basically

at any rate, there's this. which is hilarious if not helpful:
"I shit on the chest of fun"
-Dr. Hunter S. Thompson

honk honk honk honk, okay bye

Love,
Keithy Bushy

What does it mean about things:

-when the half-empty mug of mulled wine on your bookshelf which has been there for days because you were too lazy to take it downstairs is rationalized after the fact as,
-some sort of weird hippy-dippy cryptic message to yourself, a warning:
To not over-imbibe in things like mulled wine because mulled wine is one of many possible causal factors to:
---the several-day, post wine gastrointestinal discomfort, a general “wigginess” of the belly
[but are more convinced that the left-over fried won ton had more to do with this whole business].
And-
In actuality were just too lazy and probably ought to have more important things to be thinking about, jeezuz, what’s the matter with you…?

christmas card

christmas card, originally uploaded by keithrobertbush.

barrelling up the highway listening to 'the sultans of swing'

because it's your mother's birthday which provides a good excuse but you would have done this anyhow.
and also because it's taco tuesday over at the mineral springs hotel even though you don't particularly even like tacos.so you'll probably order a cheesesteak.
and then your mom convinces you to order some french fries too, so she can pick at them when she's finished her taco or two, except this time you'll be clever and when she asks for some fries you give her some fries and say something like, "happy birthday mom, there ya go". and push the big ass basket of beer battered french fries. and the mineral springs hotel is supposed to be haunted [though you've seen no evidence of this] and theres also an old man who sits at the corner who calls your parents "kids" and looks at you and says i guess that makes me your grandpa, and you say "well nice to meet you then, grandpa" even though you've met your grandpa a whole bunch of times.
[this guy still owes you a "tullamore dew" from when you met him the first time]
but at any rate this is what you're doing for what seems like no reason until you remember it's your mother's birthday. but the sultans of swing is on the radio because it's really either that or U2 or somesuch right now.
then you'll think about how you used to wonder around now [somewhere between the sheonersville road exit and the billboard with the very attractive young woman riding on a stationary bike] how high the river was or if you had it in you to make it up past the bridge today.
but instead now you're wondering whether or not that guy will make good on his tullamore dew. it's taco tuesday and you realize you've only brought half of your necessary homework home and you've switched the radio to the U2 station without really even wanting to and you realize 'aww shit i'm listening to U2 why the hell am i driving up the highway listening to the god damned radio?' and then you tell yourself that it's your mother's birthday and that you would have been doing this anyhow. besides, the dog will be excited to see you and you've been excited to hang out with the dog. and you're thinking of all the nice things you can do on your mother's birthday because you'll get there early enough to start a nice fire and get the place all comfy for when your mother gets home from work and you can empty the ashtrays and get the mail and be generally a good kid. even though you're homework isn't getting done tonight you're a good kid, you're convincing yourself. and then you switch the radio station again [this time on purpose] and hear something like

"As I climb the golden stairway up yonder
And life's journey on this Earth is o'er
As I cross the Great Divide
Will they welcome me inside
With my yodel lay-eee-ooh-my-lay-eee-tee
Yodel lay-dee-ay-dee-ooh-my-lay-dee-tee
Will there be any yodeling in heaven
Ooh-lay-dee-dee-dee-dee
And the heavens above
Will they sing the songs we love
While I yodel lay-dee-eee-ooh-my lay-dee-tee"

and you then realize the river's too high anyhow and are glad you won't have to lug your backpack and things upstairs. you're a good kid and the house will be toasty as hell when you're mother gets home.

terrified of cable.

Audience?

last night: i dreamed i had a Facebook.
this morning: i got rear-ended.
tonight: new environmental context for rampant self-involvement?

so how are you?

i love the internet again

http://news.ninemsn.com.au/article.aspx?id=665847

honkycat

honkycat, originally uploaded by keithrobertbush.

dear professor,
i am writing to apologize for my absence from class this morning. while i understand that regular lecture attendance and classwork are important to my academic success, for some reason i decided that it would be best to stay home and just paint an elton john so.......